A Not-So-Well Respected Manhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com
Mon, 10 Apr 2017 06:30:57 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngA Not-So-Well Respected Manhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com
“Mamba Out”https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/mamba-out/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/mamba-out/#respondFri, 15 Apr 2016 03:07:07 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=204]]>Through my brief time as a writer I have gained an affinity for fiction. There are many reasons for this, but a major reason is because the truth is only as good as the world allows it to be, and sometimes I feel as if this is not enough. This holds true for me in many areas of life, but one corner where I find I can delight in authenticity is the world of sports. So often on the field, pitch, or court, what happens defies explanation, and the best screenwriters in hollywood could not write scripts like those seen within the lines.

Jaw dropping events happen seasonally in sport, and stars come and go as they always have, but every once in a while, an individual comes along who repeatedly achieves greatness so often that those watching take what they are seeing for granted. We as spectators grow tired of hearing these individuals names on the news, or become hyper-critical of them when they perform below the level we have grown accustomed to seeing. We may mistake a small decline in excellence for poor performance, or worse yet, we become scornful of their success and fail to properly acknowledge the exquisite art of sustained success that we are witnessing. Such success was typical of Tiger Woods, Wayne Gretzky, Babe Ruth, and John Wooden and the UCLA basketball powerhouses of the 1960’s and early 70’s, and it continues to be the case with Tom Brady, Lionel Messi, and – dare I say it as a UNC fan – Mike Krzyzewski. These players and coaches, whose successes often garner the hatred of the casual fan, achieve excellence every time they compete. Simply watching them is poetry in motion. But it is one thing to achieve sustained excellence and it is quite another to author a storybook ending. A variety of factors usually inhibit a perfect finish for even the greatest of legends, and that is what makes bearing witness to a seemingly mythical ending so transcendent. This said, people often limit what qualifies as perfect to retiring on top of your sport. It is true that retiring in this fashion is, in fact, a perfect climax for those involved, but the mistake lies in the assumption that one must retire a champion to achieve a storybook ending. This brings us to Kobe Bryant.

Kobe most certainly has not been a champion in his final season, or his final four seasons for that matter. Plagued by season-ending injuries each year from 2013 through 2015, father time finally caught up to the Lakers star, and in 2016 it showed. With a career low field goal percentage of 35.8%, and just 17 wins for his team all year (the worst mark in Lakers history, I might add), it appeared to the world that the Black Mamba had bitten his last victim. Following his retirement announcement, the sporting community began to appreciate the greatness they had taken for granted for the last twenty years. The ensuing games on the Lakers schedule became an appreciation tour more so than a quest for success. To us, performance was secondary to the memory of what once was, and this seemed an adequate, if not appropriate, send-off. But everyone to a man forgot one important detail, this is 5-time NBA champion Kobe Bryant we are talking about, and “adequate” is a bad joke.

There will always be someone who seeks to deny a magical moment simply for denial sake. That person will point out that the Mamba took 50 shots, the most of any player in any game all season, shot 6-21 from behind the arc, and missed his first five shots of the night. All of these stats are true and unarguable. He threw up prayers, took ill-advised threes, started cold, and, in all honesty, played merely average for three quarters despite scoring 37 points. But in the fourth quarter, Kobe Bryant was Kobe Bryant. First, he eclipsed the crowds modest proposal of 40 points and I thought, “This is such a cool way to go out”. Then, he scored 50 and I knew the night was special. Finally, I blinked, he had 60, and I almost pooped my pants. Bryant closed the game 5 for 5 from the field, and scored or assisted on each of the teams final 17 points, including 13 in a row. This culminated in what ultimately proved to be the game winner with just over 30 seconds to play. With each successive basket in those closing minutes, the crowd grew evermore raucous and the celebration grew evermore joyful. In the past four years, Kobe’s game, if not the man himself, had fallen from the top of the league, and those who saw him in his prime were able to appreciate just how good he used to be. In a sense, his decline highlighted his greatness from years past, but it did not diminish the sorrow felt by his fans for his departure. But just when the world had come to grips with a Kobe who would limp to the finish line of his career, he became the Black Mamba one more time and decided to ride off into the sunset in a Purple and Gold Laker chariot. He did this because he is a legend, and love them or hate them, that is what legends do. Following his final points – two free throws to all but assure the eventual Lakers victory – he looked toward his family sitting courtside with the cheekiest of grins and winked as if to say, “how about that?” Not bad Kobe, not bad at all.

I am not sure what planet the Michael Jordan’s, Derek Jeter’s, and Kobe Bryant’s of the world hail from, but their play throughout their careers constantly reminded us that it is a planet located in a universe different from yours and mine; A planet that bestows upon its sons and daughters a penchant for the theatrical. These Icons repeatedly remind us why we love sports, and every so often, they give us goosebumps and injections of euphoria which assure us that, in a world where so much can go wrong, sometimes the truth is better than fiction.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well-Respected Man

To watch highlights from Kobe’s final game, check out these links:

To watch highlights from his entire career, check these out:

If you have 30 minutes and you want to hear him talk, here is his final Lakers press conference:

If you want to watch a poetic ending to another legendary career, I present you with Derek Jeter:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/mamba-out/feed/0Utah Jazz v Los Angeles LakerskpmfastballLove And Brutality: A History of February 14thhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/02/14/love-and-brutality-a-history-of-february-14th/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/02/14/love-and-brutality-a-history-of-february-14th/#respondSun, 14 Feb 2016 21:35:41 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=165]]>It is said that love conquers all. Well this Valentines Day, for better or worse, it has yet to conquer me. However, aside from my heroic, tragic, or somewhere in-between state of singularity this February, today, the 14th, is one in which millions across the world will rejoice in their affection for one another by raiding chocolate vendors, wine cellars, flower stores, and lingerie shops for tokens with which to express their love. Interestingly enough, each of the above items are often just as, if not, more so associated with depression than affection. I am not sure about Mr. and Mrs. reader out there, but I certainly stress eat chocolate more than I sensually feed it to my lover, the only reason I might buy lingerie would be to spice up what has not been working horizontally in my relationships, I send flowers to funerals, and guzzle wine that I might tolerate these funerals. This said, perhaps that is the point of Valentines Day: a last ditch effort for struggling couples around the world to try and make their lives work. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway, all you couples out there enjoy each other today, and If you happen to be single like me I congratulate you for staying strong. Furthermore, I bid all you bachelors and bachelorettes to grab your romantic comedies, break out the Hagen Dazs and wine (or whiskey if that’s your thing), and mentally prepare for a marathon of wishful thinking. Ladies and gentlemen, the history of Valentines Day…

The story of this great holiday begins, rather ironically, with the brutal whipping of women by their lovers. I am speaking of the ancient feast of Lupercalia celebrated by the Romans (it also possibly pre-dated them). During this festival, which took place from February 13th through the 15th, the men who partook would sacrifice a goat to symbolize fertility and a dog to symbolize purification. Following this sacrifice, the men would make strips out of the animals hides, dip these strips in blood, and proceed in the most logical fashion: by whipping women with them. In fairness, the women actually welcomed this flogging and formed lines to receive lashes as it was said to increase their fertility and decrease the pain of childbirth. Furthermore, the logic behind this practice is consistent with most others in the ancient world where endurance of pain was thought to make one better in many facets of existence. Not to mention, the pain felt by these women was probably forgotten in short order because the rest of the festival of Lupercalia was spent lovemaking with the man who chose you as his match for the day and possibly the rest of his life.

The second great development in the history of this most romantic of days, and the first roots of the holiday as we know it in the 21st century, once again begin with brutality. The name Valentines Day itself is derived from the Christian Saint Valentine. There actually exists three saints by the name Valentine (or Valentinus), but thankfully, they were all barbarically killed so history need not choose just one to use as the poster child for this grand holiday. Two of these men were killed by the Roman emperor Claudius II on February 14th of different years. The martyrdom of these men has spawned countless legends – all of which have been tailored to include romance – and these legends ultimately resulted in Pope Gelasius naming the 14th St. Valentines Day in the 5th century A.D.

Though people used the day as a celebratory occasion for centuries before, it was not until the middle ages that valentines greetings, as we know and love them today, began. The earliest recored valentines come from French and English nobility who sent their affections while they were off battling each other in the Hundred Years War in the 15th century. This practice gradually gained popularity through the years, and with the works of Geoffrey Chaucer and William Shakespeare who romanticized the holiday, the gushy, modern gift-givings and cringe-worthy public displays of affection were born. The maturation of the practice finally came in 1913 when Hallmark began mass production of valentine greetings and re-branded the holiday as yet another day of over-indulgent consumerism.

So there you have it. Valentines Day. Hopefully you know a bit more about the holiday now than you did five minutes ago, and if not, it does not really affect me so I do not really care. Couples, I hope you enjoy a day of sensuality and romance Shakespeare style, and single folks, let us snicker at these aforementioned couples with the knowledge that they are simply giving us more room to play the field.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

Side note: Cupid is the Roman god of love, but that is just about the only actual historical tie he boasts to Valentines Day. Sheath those arrows buddy, you’re totally a poser…

To learn more about Claudius II, a man who is largely remembered for most likely killing his mentor who also just so happened to be the emperor of Rome, check out this link:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/02/14/love-and-brutality-a-history-of-february-14th/feed/0petc3b3_breakfast_at_tiffanyskpmfastballIn Defense of the Minivanhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/30/in-defense-of-the-minivan/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/30/in-defense-of-the-minivan/#respondSat, 30 Jan 2016 16:40:01 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=117]]>The minivan has long been touted as unfashionable by young drivers and is repeatedly atop the unofficial, unwritten, but universally accepted list of vehicles that cool kids should, if you will pardon my pun, steer clear of. There are many reasons for the minivan’s classification as “straight up social suicide” by the High School Board of Social Acceptability and Coolness (this board is as of yet unsanctioned), not the least of which is because it has been pinned to the soccer mom demographic. Other rationales typically cited by teens include a lack of speedy performance and a not-so-sexy appearance, but a part of me wonders how and why a rational human being deems a piece of heavy machinery to be sexy in the first place. I mean, do people actually plan to treat their Lamborghini Murcielago’s to a romantic dinner, an oil change, and a couple of gallons of Shell V-Power premium grade fuel just so they might get lucky later that night? No, because Lamborghini’s are not hot chicks that refuse to date me despite my persistence, they are automobiles designed to transport a person from point A to point B. What is more, even if one was to have the hots for his or her vehicle (which I suppose it could be argued that some do), I would argue that an upright, practical minivan trumps the benefits of a high maintenance, selfish sports car seven days a week and twice on Sunday. Allow me to explain…

For one, the highly coveted Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s are stage 5 clingers. Not only will you feel as if you must drive your hot-rod everywhere (no matter how impractical) just because you can, but you will also return from each trip feeling claustrophobic and cramped for space. SPACE. Sports cars are often so covetous of this precious commodity that they only leave room for you and a few of your personal belongings to travel with them. These vehicles scoff at the idea of you bringing more than yourself and occasionally one other individual on dates with them. Personally, I perceive such cut-and-dried ultimatums as a turn off. This said, I prefer the minivan because she will allow you plenty of space to breathe in your relationship. Furthermore, a Sienna or an Odyssey encourages you to bring all of your poker buddies and even a few members of your Saturday foursome along on your journey. In many cases, the simultaneous bonding between your friends and your van will even enhance the relationship you have with your significant other because once she gets a whiff of a few of your buddies beer farts on her back seat, she will appreciate your restraint that much more.

Aside from sheer size and comfort, minivans also obliterate Corvettes, Porsche Boxsters and the like in the “consideration for your thin wallet” department. When confronted with the situation of fuel, the Dodge Grand Caravan’s or Chrysler Town and Country’s are quite contented with the cheapest menu item. This is a huge bonus, especially since, with ranges upwards of 500 miles per tank, your vehicle will maintain the endurance and stamina required to satisfy you. Flashy compact luxury vehicles on the other hand, while they may look alluring on their exteriors, lack performance where it counts. Another area where the billfold appreciates your minivan’s cheap tastes is in the oil change department. While the Audi’s and Lexus’ of the world have become notorious for burdening you with three-digit oil service bills, minivans return from the beauty (I mean service) shop with receipts that will not force you to smile through gritted teeth while you curse their petty indulgences under your breath.

All this said, however, perhaps the most important area in which your three-dimensional, complex Sienna or Sedona boasts superiority over shallow, uni-dimensional sport cruisers is through its consideration for all you hold dear. Where Maserati’s would have your two-year old shoved in the trunk for lack of space (and a foul diaper stench), a Toyota van treats little Susie like a queen. Not only is her mere existence grounds for promotion to a “captain’s chair”, but your van also sees to it that she is perpetually amused with entertainment on the rear DVD player. A woman who knows how to care for your children is a woman indeed.

She may not be the fastest or the sleekest vehicle on the road, but your baby is in it for the long haul, and for that reason she is a keeper. Slow and steady wins the race. Beauty is shallow, short-lived fads and design preferences change, and the sexiest v8 kit on the block today will be no more than rusty scrap metal tomorrow. A healthy relationship with you and your significant other is one in which both of you give and take equally, and minivans understand this. So shed the the preconceived notions, eradicate from your mind the ill-contrived nicknames (Mom Mobile, Loser Cruiser, Babe Blocker), and embrace the ultra-hip, 401k-rescuing powers of the super-cool Swagger Wagon.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

P.S. Yes, I have personal experience owning a 2004 Sienna Minivan. Her name was “The Golden Bullet” and she was very precious to me. Yes, my ownership of said van has made me biased, but this does not mean that I am wrong.

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https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/30/in-defense-of-the-minivan/feed/0us-se11-18-b_v002kpmfastballThe 27 Club or: Why I decided to Steer Clear of the Music Industryhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/the-27-club-or-why-i-decided-to-steer-clear-of-the-music-industry/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/the-27-club-or-why-i-decided-to-steer-clear-of-the-music-industry/#respondMon, 18 Jan 2016 03:42:13 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=64]]>The 27 Club can most accurately be described as the worst club in the world with the most exclusive membership in the world, and the most undesirable initiation fee in the world. This is because the club consists of world famous musicians who are all dead, and each of these individuals died – you guessed it – at the age of twenty-seven. Furthermore, though there are a number of exceptions, the most prominent members of the 27 Club died because of, or while intoxicated with, high levels of drugs and alcohol. A number of the most prominent names included in this star-studded cohort are as follows:

Jim Morrison (d. 1971) – Lead singer/Front man ofThe Doors

Brian Jones (d. 1969) – Founder/guitarist for theRolling Stones

Jimi Hendrix (d. 1970) –The Jimi HendrixExperience/Probably the most famous guitarist of all time

Janis Joplin (d. 1970) – Lead singer ofBig Brother and the Holding Company

As many of my fine, educated readers may have noticed, most of the names on this list died in the two years from 1969 to 1971, a statistic which has spawned a myriad of hilariously outrageous, if not slightly interest-piquing, conspiracy theories. In one such theory, the murky circumstances surrounding the deaths of Hendrix, Morrison, and Jones are said to be part of a concerted attempt to eliminate prominent counterculture figures of the time. It was not until the death of Kurt Cobain in 1994, however, that these theories evolved and were elaborated upon. Furthermore, Cobain’s death, which took place two and a half decades after the passing of the sixties icons, solidified the club’s existence. Since that time, the ill-fated legion has added Amy Winehouse to its ranks making her just the second woman to hold a prominent position in the group and re-energizing feminist campaigns to allocate additional spots for females.

Perhaps the most curious thing about the club is the nature of the esteem to which those included on the list are held. When most hear the names Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, the words Legend, brilliant, and Rock ‘n Roll come to mind long before the terms Barbiturates, Alcohol, and Asphyxiation. Part (or even most) of the reason for this can rightfully be attributed to the enduring music that millions still listen to every day, and a desire to remove tragedy from our minds. Another possible explanation for this thought process, however is that pop-culture has not fully learned the lessons these icon’s deaths have taught us. The counterculture movement of the sixties and early seventies may be long over, but in many ways, the carefree “flower children” of that era have passed the torch to a generation that has since allowed the vices of their forebears to blossom into asociety of over-tolerance.

The population of the world is rapidly growing, and with it, the population of stupid people. During the sixties and seventies, the vastness of substance abuse could, in part, be attributed to a lack of knowledge regarding the dangers of LSD, Heroin, etc., but with a greater level of understanding of these dangers afforded to today’s population, society is left to devise alternate explanations – albeit none of them sensible – for the ever-growing drug abuse problem. For whatever reason, drug use has occupied a constant place in the lives of popular musicians since the early days of Rock ‘n Roll, and despite the readily apparent dangers of said substances, well-educated musicians (and obviously millions of others) continue to depend on them. It is true that not all the above members of the 27 club died strictly due to drug related causes, but for the vast majority, drugs or alcohol (which I also consider to be a drug) played some role in the misadventures that resulted in their deaths.

For myself, this reality produces a reaction that is equal parts sadness for the burdens these individuals face, and a lack of sympathy for their decisions regarding how to cope with said hardships. As a fan of Amy Winehouse, I can say that she is greatly missed as a musician, and she is surely missed by friends and family, but in this day and age if she could not realize that drinking to a BAC of .41 would probably kill her, then my sympathies can only stretch so far. For the millions of music fanatics like myself, the tragedy of the premature deaths of those in the ranks of the 27 Club leave us contemplating what might have been, and as long as people fail to understand, or – more accurately – choose to ignore the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse, the ranks of the dreaded club will rise, and the big band in the sky will grow evermore talented.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

For more information on the members of the 27 Club I have mentioned here as well as others I did not have time to mention, check out these links:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/the-27-club-or-why-i-decided-to-steer-clear-of-the-music-industry/feed/027kpmfastballA Song Of An Angry Manhttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/16/a-song-of-an-angry-man/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/16/a-song-of-an-angry-man/#respondMon, 16 Nov 2015 00:42:48 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=49]]>I am not, by nature, one who writes on subjects which have already been extensively covered in the news, but this article does not bear witness to that. I am not, by nature, one who typically tackles such hard-to-stomach subjects with such matter-of-factual language, but I feel that, in this case, straightforward telling gives this tragic story some measure of potency it would not retain otherwise. Finally, I have, against my better judgment, included my own experiences in this article because I feel that doing so is the only way I am able to make any sense of the cataclysmic tragedy that has befallen the victimized souls of the Parisian attacks and their families. With all this in mind, I will proceed.

Unless you live under a rock, you have heard that several individuals from a certain organization carrying out a certain “religious crusade” killed 132 people (thus far) and injured over 350 more in a coordinated assault in the French capital this past Friday. Among the ranks of the deceased is an American college student named Nohemi Gonzalez. I acknowledge that as a citizen of the United States, my mentioning of the one known American victimized in an attack that claimed over 130 other lives of non-Americans must surely reek of clichéd American narcissism. This perception may indeed be true, but I suppose ones deepest sympathies are often allied with those individuals with whom one relates best to, and in this case, Ms. Gonzalez is that individual for me.

A 23-year-old student at Long Beach State, Gonzalez had been studying abroad at Strate College of Design for the fall semester. A guest with three other friends at a popular bistro in Paris, Nohemi’s companions were lucky enough to escape. Ms. Gonzalez, who was fatally shot by gunmen that opened fire from a passing vehicle, was not. As I alluded to a moment ago, the story has been given its due attention by the American press, and a vigil has been planned at Long Beach State in the wake of her death.

For my part, I find the nature of Ms. Gonzalez’s presence in Paris a particularly disturbing element of this story. She was a student who arrived for a semester abroad in September and was slated to return home a month from now in time for the holidays. A year ago at this time I, like Nohemi, was spending a semester abroad in Europe. With each day that passed there I found myself engaging in yet another first experience that fostered an increase in my self-confidence and made me feel ever more like a person whose life could some day amount to anything I chose. During those days I believed for the first time that I could make my own meaningful mark on this world and that the lessons living in a foreign country were teaching me would make me a better, more accepting person.

It is with absolute certainty that I can assure you Nohemi Gonzalez was feeling at least some measure of the same emotions that I, and every other student that has ever lived abroad for a time, have felt. It is for this reason that I read her story with such a heavy heart. I do not especially care what the news outlets have to say about Ms. Gonzalez’s kindness, zeal for life, or friendliness. What these reports describe about her certainly must be true, but at this time my heart is lead not just for the person that Nohemi Gonzalez was, but for the person that she was becoming and for the family she has left behind who will never see her again.

The assault by Islamic State militants on Paris this past Friday has not only dominated my thoughts this weekend, but it has also made me realize with a brooding clarity that the war ISIS has declared is an all-encompassing one. Had the strikes that were staged in Paris this week been staged twelve months ago in London, the American Student killed could have just as easily been myself or one of my peers rather than Ms. Gonzalez. It is a great tragedy of this world that the everyday innocent must always remain vigilant and cautious for fear of atrocities just like the one that occurred in Paris two days ago. Today, this tragedy has me grieving the loss of Nohemi Gonzalez and nearly five hundred other strangers just like myself. Vive la Paris.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

As I trust you already have your own sources for news on the Paris attacks I will merely leave you with this exemplar of the compassion the human spirit is capable of:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/16/a-song-of-an-angry-man/feed/02QzcMhxkpmfastballStop Complaining, You Live In Americahttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/09/29/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/09/29/#respondMon, 09 Nov 2015 23:23:57 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=29]]>At this time last year, I spent my days jaunting around the disappointingly sunny skies of the disappointingly fair-weathered city of London with some choice British chaps who – aside from their thicker than cheesecake accents – were disappointingly normal, down to earth, and wonderful people. Furthermore, on this particular week a year ago, I flushed my American identity temporarily down the toilet in favor of a ridiculous number of red poppies and a misguided notion that I understood the concept of 900,000 British deaths in World War I. I am, of course, referring to Armistice Day in England. So much did I focus on British history during this time that I thought little of the country from which I originate. Flash forward a year and because I can no longer assume the role of American poser who wears a red flower, runs around shouting “lest we forget”, and garners the scorn of millions of British nationals, I am forced to ponder the past, present, and future of my own country.

As a matter of historical relevance, the British Armistice Day and American Veterans day are products of the same event. This event is the November 11th 1918 Armistice that was signed in Compiègne, France which ended fighting on the western front of World War I. Furthermore, it essentially – though not formally – marked the end of the conflict. In the years that followed, both Britain and America celebrated the date as Armistice Day, and it was not until 1954 that the United States changed the name of the federal holiday to Veterans Day. This, in turn, marked the second time the USA declared independence from association with those bloody redcoats.

These days, Veterans Day is a holiday that most Americans think of as kind of a half-holiday. In other words, it is a day where a lot of people get off work, but there is no real reason for people to go out and buy iPhones or high-priced lingerie for their wives or illegitimate lovers so nobody really cares. This is a shame because everyone and their mother who has ever lived in this country has benefited from the sacrifices this day commemorates. Without the George Washington’s, Dwight Eisenhower’s, Carlos Hathcock’s (look him up, he is as hardcore as they come), and Colin Powell’s of the world, our nation would not be the democracy it is today. In case this is too cryptic, let me put it this way: were it not for the Armed forces of America, all of us would either be subjects of Elizabeth II, subjects of a racist protégé of Jefferson Davis, subjects of the German Kaiser, Subjects of Hitler’s grandson, subjects of Hirohito, subjects of Vladimir Putin, or subjects of nobody because we would be dead via nuclear warheads. I am not sure about you, but from my view all of those options suck more than my last test grade in Business Law (a 74 for anyone who is wondering).

A pessimist by trade and for amusement, I am the first in line to admit my doubts about the current direction of our nation. I undeniably condescend, make tasteless jokes, and gripe that America-the-unopposed-powerhouse will soon be a notion flushed down the same proverbial toilet bowl that my American heritage circumvented last year. This said, I acknowledge that I live in a place where I may say these things without threat of my hand taking a permanent vacation from my body if I do so. Furthermore, I am saddened by those who harbor eternal dissatisfaction with the stars and stripes while they rot on their couches eating highly capitalistic Cheetos and playing simulations of the very conflicts they are griping about on their PlayStations. To those of you for whom the preceding description applies, I promise that your girlfriend did not break up with you because marijuana is illegal, and I remind you that without some measure of power to the police, racism would be the least of this country’s problems. Things could certainly be better in America, but they could also be infinitely worse. Though we may dislike some (or even many) of the decisions our leaders make, we must rejoice in the heartwarming realization that we were not born in Canada.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

For more information about World War I and England’s involvement in particular see these links:

For more information about legendary sniper Carlos Hathcock watch this video:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/09/29/feed/0OmahaBeach-HonorandSacrificekpmfastballThe Name Is Fawkes, Guido Fawkeshttps://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/05/7/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/05/7/#commentsThu, 05 Nov 2015 05:38:34 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=7]]>Remember, remember the fifth of November. On this day four hundred and ten years ago, thirteen Englishmen with some serious sacks saw their conspiracy to kill King James I and everyone in the House of Lords of English Parliament foiled when Guido Fawkes (yes this was his real name) was caught in the cellar beneath the Parliament building. Early reports claimed that he was tap dancing too loudly to traditional Latin organ hymns while watching over the gunpowder that was supposed to blow the building, but the credibility of these sources has since been questioned. In any event, the discovery marked the beginning of a nationwide frenzy to discover the truth behind the plot, and the end of Guido’s limbs being attached to his body. Yes, Fawkes was first tortured to divulge the identities of his large-sacked comrades, then he was killed and chopped into four pieces of which two made up the king’s meal that night (This is also a an unconfirmed report).

Most probably know at least some version of the events I have outlined above, however, many probably do not know the reason why this gunpowder plot even came about in the first place. In truth, the underlying problem that plagued England at this time involved a bunch of pansies getting catty over who’s version of the New Testament was correct. Guido and his posse were Catholics who had long been disdained by Jamie and Queen Elizabeth before him. Prior to Elizabeth, however, Queen Mary, Elizabeth’s older sister and a devout Catholic, burned a bunch of Protestants at the stake, which was nice of her. In short, these rulers just wanted to blow off steam by engaging in genocide so they all claimed God was on their side. Call me stupid, but something tells me that when Jesus said “Peace be with you” it was not code for “lets go get some oil and douse people in it and set them on fire”. But what do I know?

Why, do you ask have I presented you with a history lesson on this most auspicious of days? I have done so because a depressingly large amount of people that do not possess brains still feel the need to argue over which version of the same God is the real God, and unfortunately, many of these people carry large weapons which have proven vastly more efficient in inducing death than nooses. Either we do not understand that history ought to be studied so that mistakes might be avoided in the future, or we just do not care whether we make these mistakes again, but regardless of which is true, both propositions are equally terrifying. If we all do not learn how to subvert the urge to behead people simply because they go to a different church down the street from our own, we will all one day, by one means or another, end up like Guido and his band of ballsy collaborators: as the protein at the King’s feast. Good day to all and go have fun burning some Guido effigies.

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

A Not-So-Well Respected Man

For more information about King Jamie and Guido and his gang check out these links:

]]>https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/05/7/feed/1anonkpmfastballA Very Underwhelming and Mildly Hilarious Introduction To My Vanity.https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/03/a-very-underwhelming-and-mildly-hilarious-introduction-to-my-vanity/
https://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/2015/11/03/a-very-underwhelming-and-mildly-hilarious-introduction-to-my-vanity/#respondTue, 03 Nov 2015 04:52:32 +0000http://anotsowellrespectedman.wordpress.com/?p=4]]>Hello to my minuscule in number yet generous-with-their-time clientele. My name is none of your business and my business is doing my best to entertain anyone and everyone who clicks on the wrong link and happens upon my blog. I foresee that this site will mostly consist of written articles by your’s truly. In light of this fact, and in full realization that the desire for literacy the world over is rapidly deteriorating, I expect that I will seldom generate interest in the brain droppings that make their way out of my cerebral cortex. This said, any viewership, comments, and positive feedback (or hate mail, I suppose) that I am presented with by yours truly will be greatly appreciated. My interests are vast, my expertise non-existent, and my sarcasm abundant so I am looking forward to generating some laughter, tears, and possibly some thought provocation. So strap in, turn on the afterburners, and talk to me Goose, because I live for feedback and I am ready to blow your mind with a smorgasbord of exquisite vocabulary and spectacular content. Bravo to anyone who picked up on that Top Gun reference and Au Revoir to my French pals.